She's Gone, Edward
by just-another-smalltown-girl
Summary: "Every fiber in my stone body screamed in protest, but I still saw it anyway: Bella's body, broken and lifeless, drifting down in the ocean depths, her hair splayed effortlessly around her face. She could have been sleeping, except for the lack of color that usually graced her ivory skin. What had I done?" Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: I do not own New Moon, or any of Stephenie Meyer's characters. All portions of this oneshot that correspond to New Moon belong to Stephenie Meyer. The rest belongs to me (which isn't much, unfortunately). **

* * *

The call came shortly after one in the morning, the day of the week indeterminate. I didn't pay much attention to the date anymore—it meant nothing to me. Only the ever-moving sun told me that time was passing, and that passage was akin to eternal damnation in my already condemnatory existence.

Usually I ignored such calls, especially since the caller identification indicated my least favorite sibling wanted to talk. Hadn't I made it explicitly clear I wasn't to be bothered? Wasn't I in enough pain? But my fingers brushed across the smooth metal frame even as my better self tried to banish the cacoethes from my mind. As much as I preferred to be alone, as much as I didn't want to hear her voice, knew that she would somehow hurt me, I yearned for some kind of familiarity. Even if my angel wouldn't be a part of it anymore.

"Hello?" My voice unsettled me; I had not heard it very clearly for a while. It cut through the deafening silence of the room like a serrated knife, rough and thick with emotions I dared not let myself feel. It drove a knife into my stomach and my breath left me in a silent whoosh.

"Edward?" Rosalie answered immediately, and it was obvious she hadn't expected me to pick up. I'd promised her I wouldn't talk to her—to anyone—when I'd last left. I'd snarled to all of them that I'd wanted to be alone.

I was breaking all sorts of promises, lately.

"Look, Edward, I… I don't know quite how to say this… Um…"

"Spit it out," I snapped, irritated in spite of myself. I had no time for Rosalie's foolish antics. Already, I was regretting picking up.

"It's over." Her voice came in a whisper, a relieved yet nervous breath that hissed against her line of the phone. When I didn't reply, she hurried on in a rush. "Edward, it's over, it's okay. You can come back to us; we can go back to Forks now. We can be a family!"

I was suddenly livid. "What do you _mean_ we can go back to Forks, Rosalie? I can't just waltz back there and apologize—I _promised_ her! I thought you understood, you of all people." Yes, Rosalie should know the depth of the situation. She had been more than willing for me to leave Bella, in the first place…

I waited for her angry reply, a furious hiss, a retort, an insult… something. I was not prepared for the anxious silence that followed, that cocooned me in its foreboding, choked me with its icy fingers. I was about to hang up, eager to be rid of the strange feeling, when Rosalie spoke again.

"She's gone, Edward. She—she's dead. She threw herself off a cliff and died. Alice saw it." I could hear that she was remorseful, but also slightly eager; Rosalie truly thought I could come back to them, that I could be normal again. What a stupid, shallow being she was. I could never be normal—not ever, after this.

My world—shattered. Just like that: love, life, meaning… over. I could hear Rosalie become anxious when I was quiet; her voice rose several pitches on the musical scale. I just couldn't understand what she was saying. My brain had shut down, numbed itself in perpetual shock, and I drowned in it. Though I sat, still as a statue, in the dim attic, my unconscious was flailing around in the ocean of insanity, the deadweight of Bella's death dragging me ever downward.

I wanted to fight against it, because I knew I should for my family—for Carlisle, damn it. But I couldn't make myself do it.

What would I live for, anyway?

She was gone.

Gone. I could feel the hole in my chest—the one she used to fill—rip ever wider, and suddenly Rosalie's frantic screeches were cut off. The metallic powder that used to be the phone slipped through my clenched fingers and made tiny patterns on the rotting wooden floor, but I barely noticed.

Every fiber in my stone body screamed in protest, but I still saw it anyway: Bella's body, broken and lifeless, drifting down in the ocean depths, her hair splayed effortlessly around her face. She could have been sleeping, except for the lack of color that usually graced her ivory skin.

_'She threw herself off a cliff and died.'_

How could Bella have been so reckless?

I was suddenly, inconsolably furious. I launched to my feet in a blind rage and tore a strut from the moldy attic wall, ripping it to sawdust in my eager hands. Hadn't she promised not to do anything reckless? _Hadn't she? _That had been my one simpe request: Don't do anything reckless. And she'd damn well killed herself!

I'd destroyed a few other wall supports before I realized how pitifully hypocritical I was being. Hadn't _I_ promised her I'd never leave?

"Bella," I moaned. "Oh, Bella, Bella." I sank to my knees as a dry sob wrenched its way up my chest, followed instantly by another. I shook uncontrollably as sounds of sadness poured from my mouth, rendered to their most basic syllables by the sheer emotion pounding through my dead heart. I could manage little else for the next few hours.

* * *

When the first weak ray of light found its way through the partially shattered window, I had quieted, simply curled into the darkest corner of the attic. I didn't know where to go on from now, only that I could not continue existing.

The light inched its way toward me determinedly, yearning to touch my icy skin and display the nightmarish reality of my being. But it could not—I was very thoroughly covered in head-to-toe black clothing. Nothing could touch me now, nothing but the pain.

Eventually, I convinced myself I had to move, go somewhere where I could fully appreciate ever facet of my multilayered grief. I jumped nimbly out of the two-story window onto the darkened streets below and began a brisk pace to anywhere—mostly, away from people.

I was headed toward a shipping dock when I spotted something that made me backtrack. A payphone. It glared at me tauntingly and suddenly a new emotion emerged from under the layers of heartache: curiosity.

Someone answered on the second ring, but it was not who I would have expected. "Swan residence," a gruff, husky voice growled.

"Hello," I said quietly, perfectly imitating my father's voice. "This is Carlisle Cullen calling. May I inquire as to where Charlie might be at the moment?"

"He's not here," the voice replied angrily, almost threateningly.

"Well, where is he?" I asked, taken aback and suddenly peeved with whoever this person thought they were.

"He's at the funeral."

I hung up with a clatter, my hands suddenly shaking.

That decided things, then. I could live no longer. The deadweight that my consciousness had thus far fought against became too much; I gave up and sank into the depths of myself. There was only one course of action that made any sense: I had to see Bella again, and I would do so through death.

And I knew exactly who would grant my wish.

* * *

The plane ride to Volterra, Italy, was tense. Flight attendants doted on me mercilessly until I gave up and closed my eyes, feigning sleep. It was easier this way, too. No outside distraction permeated my angst. I could wallow in anguish in peace.

My fault. I had driven Bella to this—to suicide. Obviously, I'd been wrong in assuming she would be over me within a few months. I had been too selfish; allowed her to become attached to me even when it was not safe for her. And now she was dead, and I would join her in the afterlife.

The thought was slightly comforting, but I was still doubtful. I would probably never be granted access to the kind of heaven Bella would—in fact, I prayed I would not be. She deserved so much better than I, a murderer, a monster. She deserved Elysium. I deserved Hell. The angel could never be with the devil.

I wondered what her last thoughts had been. She probably despised me. That made my dead heart ache—I did not want her to hate me, and yet, how could she not? I had broken her so thoroughly that anything but seemed implausible. Sadness once again engulfed me, and I suffered through it for the remaining hours of the flight.

When the plane touched down, I was the first off and out of the tiny airport. I should have rented a car, kept up with the human façade, but nothing mattered anymore. So it was with inhuman speed that I traveled toward the heart of the infamous city, to my destiny, to my death.

* * *

Fury.

How could they be so stupid? How could they not see what a broken man I was, see how I yearned for death with every fiber of my body? Of course all Aro saw was potential in my broken family ties, ignoring my plea for a swift demise.

"Dearest Edward, join our ranks! You would be most welcome here," he'd pleaded, his milky eyes greedy.

"I'm sure I would be, Aro, but the answer must be no. I come here pursuing only one thing, and seeing as you won't grant it to me now, I must seek it out by other means."

They'd let me leave, then, but I could hear that I was being carefully watched now. I was hunched in an alley, thinking desperately for a way to end my abhorrent existence, and the Volturi were intrigued as to why I had not left yet. From Jane's thoughts, I deciphered that Aro had ordered them to tail me until I left city limits. He was suspicious—worried, even—that I would do something rash.

Perhaps that was it, then. I knew that the Volturi were not merciful when it came to keeping our existence a secret; if I somehow managed to anger them, they would kill me.

But, how to expose myself in such a manner…

A child, little more than six, bounded into the dark alley from the crowded square, giggling with the excitement of a hide-and-seek game with her exasperated parents. I looked up just as she caught my eye, and we both froze. The ghost of her last smile slowly faded from her full lips as she took in my hunched figure, my tortured eyes. But I could not look away.

Her skin, shadowed by the red cloak she wore, was the color of fresh milk, her eyes a soft brown. Dark, curly hair hung in spirals around her dimpled cheeks, and when she took a hesitant step back, toward the light, I saw it had red highlights.

If it hadn't been irreversibly mangled, my heart would have shattered again. This young girl, who now stood motionless as a scared doe, was the literal reincarnation of my Bella. I wanted to reach out to her, to hold her in my arms, to somehow delude myself into thinking it could possibly be my love. But I knew that I could not.

For now, I could be content to stare into her wide brown eyes—not quite Bella's exact shade, just infinitesimally more green around the edges. She was spellbound, too, ignoring her parents' far away calls.

_L'uomo è abbastanza triste ... perché?_

She wondered why such a flawless creature like myself could look so sad. She wanted to help, but she was too scared.

"Ho perso qualcuno che amo molto," I whispered in response. "Lei era la mia vita." _I lost someone I love very much. She was my life._ No, Bella had been much more than my life… she had been everything.

The girl looked startled. "Mamma!" she cried, backing all the way out of the alley.

_No, don't go. Don't go, Bella._

I lifted a hand wistfully but let it drop when the girl ran to her mother, out of my sight.

"Oh, Sofia, non scappare di nuovo!" her mother scolded, and I saw through her mind that she had lifted the child into her arms and nestled her to her chest.

"Mamma," the girl named Sofia protested. "Ho visto qualcuno! E 'stato triste." She tried to tell her mother about the sad man in the alley, but the woman was too distracted by the large crowd gathering in the square. It had caught my attention, too, and suddenly I remembered what day it was, why everyone was dressed in red.

Saint Marcus Day. Hundreds of people would pack into the Palazzo di Priori square and celebrate the supposed eradication of vampires from their city, as they had for centuries. Ironic, but very, very useful.

In the back of my mind, a plan began to formulate.

* * *

The bell began to ring, a low gong of impending doom. I wondered how quickly the Volturi would descend upon me once they processed what was happening. I hoped it was very quick; I was selfish enough to want to avoid pain, even though I deserved it more than anyone on this earth.

One. Two. Three. Four. My shirt dropped to the stone ground. My eyes closed, and I opened my palms to the encroaching sun. I was already looking forward to death. Soon, I would not have to suffer through the agony of living anymore. Soon, it would all be over.

I would be with my angel.

The clock tolled once more, and I stepped forward.

"No! Edward, _look at me_!" Ah. Her voice—its memory was clear as day. I smiled, and lifted my foot to take the step that would end my pitiful existence.

Something slammed into me. Reflexively, I reached out and caught it in my arms, and opened my eyes in wonder. Bella?

"Ah," I breathed, suddenly more complete than I had ever been. The hole in my chest knit itself up until it was as if it had never existed. "Carlisle was right." So there was such thing as a heaven for our kind—perhaps I did have some kind of a soul. Because Bella could never have gone to hell; that was impossible, and she was with me.

"Edward," she pleaded. "You've got to get back into the shadows! You've got to move!"

What was she talking about, silly girl? We were together in heaven, and I was happy for the first time in months. I brushed my finger against her soft cheek, felt her warm pulse, smelled her sweet scent. This was too good to be true. What had I done to deserve her?

"I can't believe how quick it was—I didn't feel a thing. They're very good," I mused, impressed. Perhaps the Volturi deserved more credit than they received. Slowly, I closed my eyes and pressed my lips against her soft hair. Oh—but to touch her again! She was just as she had always been in living. "_Death, that hath sucked the honey of thy breath, hath had no power upon thy beauty,_" I whispered, echoing Romeo's words in the tomb. Breathing in, I barely even winced. "You smell exactly the same as always. So maybe this _is_ hell. I don't care. I'll take it." As long as I was with Bella, I would go anywhere. Her mouthwatering blood mattered naught.

"I'm not dead!" Bella pressed, pushing against my chest with all the force of a summer breeze. "And neither are you! Please, Edward, we have to move. They can't be far away!"

I frowned in confusion. Why was she so determined to leave? I would not allow it. "What was that?" I asked, feeling as if I was on the cusp of discovering something major, and yet drunk with pleasure.

"We're not dead, not yet! But we have to _get out of here_ before the Volturi—"

It all clicked into place with frightening clarity. We were not dead, Bella was alive, and she had come to save me. She had _risked her life_ for one who so obviously did not deserve her.

_What a sweet reunion._

_My, she _does_ smell incredibly tempting._

Their thoughts wrenched me back into the present, and in one swift motion I had Bella behind me, my arms spread wide to protect her. My sharp eyes had no trouble spotting Felix and Demetri drifting toward us, obscured by their thick cloaks.

As I greeted them coldly, I was only half-concentrated on the danger in front of me. The rest of my concentration was focused on the girl that pressed so trustingly to me, whose arms snaked around my middle in fright, who I was bound and determined to protect.

I would not let her down again—not ever. And so I faced the cloaked guards calmly and coolly, more alive than ever before in my century of existence.

With Bella beside me, willing me forward, I could do anything. She had restored my will to live, and with it my will to keep her safe. As long as I was with her, she would not be harmed. It was a thought I carried with me to the very end.

* * *

___I never knew there would be a better tomorrow  
____But you've come into my life and taken away all my sorrow  
____My days of sadness are a thing of the past  
Because I have found true love at last _

___My days of emptiness are gone for good  
Because you fill a void in my heart that you should  
You've opened a window  
You've shown me the light  
And my love for you will continue to burn bright._

-Yvonne Warren

* * *

**So, that's my take on the much-interpreted New Moon segment in which Edward discovers Bella has 'died'. I felt Ms. Warren's poem at the end really described how Edward might feel after he found Bella again, and provided a sweet ending to the oneshot. **

**What'd you think? Please leave a review!**


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